


Terrible Lizard

by Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw



Series: Paternoster Row: the spinoff [3]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-12
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-19 03:52:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1454371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw/pseuds/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Intrepid detectives Jenny Flint and Madame Vastra follow up a lead at the Natural History Museum and meet some old friends and older enemies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Terrible Lizard

**Author's Note:**

> I put the "Underage" tag just to be safe, but there is no explicit sexual material anywhere in here, just some flirting, kissing, etc.

“And where are you off to?” Mrs. Sanders calls as Nellie gathers her things to go out. 

“To the museum, mother,” Nellie replies and pulls on her jacket.

“Won't it be closed soon?” Mrs. Sanders spares a glance from the vegetables she is slicing for dinner and the three young ones at play for their clock.

“Yes, mum. I'm going with Jenny and Vastra, mum.”

Nellie's mother, Janet, smiled. For some reason unknown to Nellie, her parents approved wholeheartedly of her affiliation with the detectives despite the danger. Good practical education, her father, Greg, often said, and it wasn't as though the rest of the world was made of sweet cream and roses. Nellie shrugged, and kissed her mother goodbye. She certainly wasn't going to complain, though she suspected the shillings she could put towards feeding six hungry mouths—more if her older sister, Allison, and her son, Jim, were home for dinner—did a lot to convince them. She smiled at the thought—the wee lad was a charming fellow for only three.

“Be back in time for dinner!” she called as Nellie left.

***

“I feel positively ancient—downright matronly!--chivvying these children about,” Vastra scowls as she, Jenny, Strax, and Doyle try to keep their eyes on Henry, Anaya, and Nellie. Ordinarily rather well-behaved, their three young assistants are marveling at the prospect of an evening at the museum, bouncing from foot to foot. While the museum is admittedly free to the public, Doyle has managed to arrange a professional visit for them after hours, though he hasn't been entirely clear on the details. The chance to visit a museum which is impressive under any circumstances without the distraction of crowds and with the added thrill of breaking the rules is sufficient to get all three of the young Peculiars electrified. Even the excitement of their usual profession isn't enough to dampen their enthusiasm; on the contrary, the three teens have been theorizing all day about what sort of strange alien art and artifacts could be tucked within the museum's walls.

“I know that you're plenty young at all the important times,” Jenny quips, and Vastra rewards her with a flaring of her crests and a gentle blow to her shoulder. “I meant when we were hunting criminals, Madame.”

Before Vastra can respond, two men, one younger and one very old and leaning on a cane, greet them at the door. “Director Mapplethorpe, I presume?” Doyle asks. He peers more closely at the younger of the two men. “Robbie?”

“Artie!” The two men embrace, and Mapplethorpe explains, “Doyle and I went to school together as boys. I look forward to renewing our acquaintance, but for now, professional matters must trump personal concerns. I have the honor of introducing Richard Owen.” He grins at the older man. “Owen was the driving force behind this lovely new building, and he was the one who insisted that the museum be free to members of the public.”

“Alas,” Owen says, “I shall probably be remembered for coining the word Dinosaur, if history is any guide, since it is the least of my accomplishments. Come inside; we have much to discuss.”

***

“These are the security consultants you told me about, Artie?” Mapplethorpe peers at the unusual crowd. “Not what you would call typical.”

“And the party you're throwing to celebrate the fifth anniversary of your move into the new building isn't typical either,” Doyle counters delicately. One could only presume so far on an old school chum, after all. 

Mapplethorpe laughs. “No, I suppose not. Quite a few very rare, very strange items making a stop here for the occasion. We've had to rearrange half the collection to make room.”

“Me, for instance,” Owen jokes. “Glad to help while I'm still capable of getting from one place to another by myself instead of stuffed into a display case.” He turns to Vastra and Jenny. “I'm just as glad that you brought your younger associates along—educating the young and the poor was part of my vision for this place.” He grins and shifts his cane from one hand to the other. “Knowledge only becomes more valuable when it is shared.” His gaze loses focus for a moment as he looks at the trio of young faces.

“Shall we take a look around the museum?” Mapplethorpe offers, breaking Owen out of his reverie. “See if there are any obvious flaws and all that?” The others nod, and he continues. “Why don't we split into groups? There's a lot of ground to cover, after all, and we can meet back here in one hour.”

***

“Aren't they beautiful?” Jenny asks, pausing beneath the skeletons of great dinosaurs. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots Henry looking at Nellie. Another specimen in the great mental case labeled “To investigate later,” she thinks with a sigh.

“Yeah, beautiful,” Henry echoes. Why can't I be looking at antique weapons with Strax, he wonders. The little fellow is crazy, but he has a sense of humor. To be fair, he isn't sure that Strax is aware that he has a sense of humor.

“I wonder what Madame would think of these,” she asks herself as she walks by Iguanodon. 

“Aren't they adorable together?” Nellie whispers to Henry. She'd like to get wrapped up in someone like that someday. Really, they were further proof that love could conquer any artificial barrier. And the touch of danger in their lives didn't hurt either.

“Jenny and the skeleton?” The giant bones are pretty awesome, he decides. Doesn't think he'd call them adorable, though. 

“Jenny and Vastra, you lout!” Nellie shoves him playfully.

“I suppose so.”

Nellie rolls her eyes. “I should have guessed you've no eye for true romance.” Pursuing another woman isn't a choice Nellie is likely to make soon, but one could hardly deny the affection the two had for one another and remain an honest woman. Besides, with two more eligible ladies off the market, that means better prospects for her.

“Vastra talks about the great reptiles from time to time,” Jenny says, daydreaming. “Tropical forests, beasts with legs as tall as we are, lizards in the air and the sea...” She gazed up at the massive bones. “I forget sometimes how much the world has changed for her. Humans didn't even exist, and now there are billions of us. I wonder if we could survive back then—we certainly weren't meant to.”

“I sometimes get jealous of you for visiting other planets,” Nellie says. “You forget how different the earth looked in the past—and can't imagine it will look any different in the future.” She wonders idly if her employers would be happier in the distant past or the distant future, or if their unusual status is part of what holds them together. Well, at any rate, they are still here despite their time-traveling friends.

Jenny laughs. “Probably just as well madame is off somewhere else; she'd just throw a fit about how inaccurate the models are. Come on, let's go.”

***

“Do tell me more about your study of evolution and dinosaurs. I find those topics...personally interesting,” Vastra says, genuinely enthused.

“Well, obviously no one was around to watch the entire process—the current conjectures seem plausible, though we revise them regularly. But it seems very clear that the earth is old—very old! Millions of years—perhaps billions.”

“Gracious,” Vastra says, feigning surprise expertly. “Does it take so long to make a planet?”

“I suppose it does. Certainly it took quite a while for apes to emerge from some primitive mammal, for lesser humans to emerge from common apes, and for modern man to claw his way to civilization. Indeed, there are some in the scientific community who suggest that this process is still ongoing for some of the races of man.” He is turned away from Anaya, whose face is a portrait of murder. “For myself, my knowledge of mammals is so limited that I must withhold judgment on that last point. But in general, the chain seems solid.” He managed a dry chuckle. “I say chain as though one can follow from link to link in a simple, straight line. Whereas the truth of the matter is that the fossil record indicates that different lines branch and interweave like some glorious tapestry. Some animals change constantly, while sharks, for instance, seem to have scarcely evolved in millions of years. I doubt there are too many creatures which can boast that they have remained unchanged for so long.”

“Few indeed, Doctor Owen,” Vastra says with a smile.

“I might wonder what humanity might come to resemble, given enough time. There are some who say that man is the peak of creation, but I suspect Twain has the right of it, and we may as well be as to another species as the oyster is to us.” Anaya looks at him curiously. “Mark Twain, of course. American, but he has his charms. Still, the question is intriguing, though I doubt I will live long enough to see it answered, or that my grandchildren shall, or even their grandchildren: not unless we unlock the secrets of the gods, of immortality itself.” He smiles sadly. “Such is the scale of the cosmos—one cannot help but feel small by comparison.” He brightens up after a moment's meditation, and gestures for Vastra and Anaya to follow him. “Come along, no time to waste for the laments off the old. Not when we have so many young, excited minds to teach!”

***

“Pitiful human weaponry,” Strax mutters as he walks past a case of spears and swords. Why, he thinks, a single Sontaran warrior could slaughter a hundred humans armed with such puny armaments. Though some of those javelins look about the right size for a probic vent... He thumbs the laser pistol tucked into his pocket like a talisman.

Behind him, Doyle and Mapplethorpe talk eagerly. They have exhausted their stock of schoolboy anecdotes and have moved on to a serious debate. “I tell you, Robbie: spiritualism is as good a scientific discipline as any of your theories!”

Mapplethorpe rolls his eyes. “Medium after medium has been discredited. Spiritualist idea after spiritualist idea has been debunked. It can't stand up to the rigors of the scientific method. And you should know as well as anyone that a theory, in the world of science, has a very specific meaning entitling it to far more respect than some mere guess at the nature of the unknown.”

“I have seen things—things you would scarcely credit, old friend. Things I barely trust myself, save that I have seen them with my own eyes.”

“That very well may be, my boy. But when every last spiritualist hypothesis has been disproved, you may hardly blame me for suggesting that the whole art is nothing but delusion and trickery. Call me a skeptic if you like, but I prefer the happy title of empiricist.” Mapplethorpe fixes Doyle with his eyes and claps his hands on his old friend's shoulders. “It's all well and good to wish for something. But I hope to God, for the sake of your patients, that you don't go wishing on stars for their treatment.”

“No more than I use my copy of Grey's Anatomy as a missal,” Doyle vows. 

Mapplethorpe chuckles. “That would make for some interesting hymns! 'Metatarsals We Have Heard on High,' anyone?”

“You old blasphemer!” Doyle chuckles. 

“First skeptic, now blasphemer,” Mapplethorpe teases. “It's almost like you weren't happy to see me.”

“It's always pleasant to bump into you, old friend. No hard feelings, I hope?”

“Never,” Mapplethorpe assures him.

***

Vastra peeks at the scanner in her purse. Some form of advanced technology... Anaya comes over as Owen checks a side door. “Is that it, then?” she asks.

Vastra smiles as she takes a closer look. “No, I am afraid not.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because it is a Silurian scale-buffer,” Vastra replies, and they share a laugh. “I wonder how many traces of my species, or of alien races, are scattered throughout the museums of this world?”

“God only knows...” Anaya laughs archly. “It's probably just as well that we don't know how to use most of it.”

Vastra frowns. “Any fool can push a button, whether he means to or not.”

Anaya nods. “And this is why we have the vault.”

“Sadly, yes. There are things too dangerous for anyone to interact with safely.”

***

“Director Mapplethorpe!” Strax hisses in a stage-whisper. “I must requisition acid mines, ion lances, and shoulder rockets.”

Mapplethorpe gives Doyle a concerned look. “Is this fellow mad?”

“He is prone to the occasional violent, raving outburst, but his fighting instinct is second to none and he is otherwise a solid, capable fellow.” Doyle hopes this is true. 

“I insist, sir, or I shall have to take matters into my own hands.” He gestures at a generally conical item on display covered with domes and strange protuberances. “That thing is a creature! A Dalek! It must be destroyed at once.”

“I assure you, that is...” Mapplethorpe peers at the placard: Unknown artifact, unknown origin, unknown age. “Well, something harmless. Come, this way.” Strax is, at last, too baffled by the humans' lethargy and hatred for combat to continue, and follows after them, still hoping for a stray superweapon hidden in an exhibit.

As the irregular trio walk away, the Dalek's eyepiece swivels after them. That idiotic Sontaran had gotten too close to the truth, only to be dissuaded by an even more idiotic human. It considers its possible strategies. Perhaps the Earth creatures are here for some other mission. If so, they can be safely ignored. If not...the Dalek's damaged sensors are no closer to pinpointing the time tunneler. Perhaps they can manage the legwork and then it could exterminate the vermin and steal its prize. Yes, that would do nicely. It allows itself a single beep of triumph.

***

“The Pandorica,” Jenny observes as she catches a glimpse of a massive black cube out of the corner of her eye. “Reckon that's not human—let's have a look, shall we?” Henry and Nellie nod excitedly. “Stay behind me...” They walked slowly towards the eerily-patterned cube in the center of the east wing. 

“Supposed to be guarded by a Lone Centurion,” Henry reads. “A legendary warrior as old as the Pandorica itself. Excellent.”

“Probably not...” Jenny's voice trails off as she circles around to the other side of the Pandorica. “Real. Rory? Is that you? Does the Doctor need our help again?” 

What had, seconds ago, been a mannequin in Roman armor springs to life. “Sorry, do I know you?”

“Rory, it's me, Jenny Flint; we just...” Jenny pauses as Rory looks at her blankly.

“Sorry, I must not have met you yet,” he apologizes. “I'm still getting the hang of this time-travel thing. Still, it's nice to have some visitors who know me, even if I can't repay the favor. Sorry, what year is it?”

“1888.” Nellie blushes as she speaks and whispers to Henry. “He's adorable. And a bit of a hunk.” Henry, flustered, manages to roll his eyes. Not a romantic bone in that boy's body. Comes of living with two older brothers, Nellie expects. Or a nurturing bone, most likely, since her urge to comfort the stranger—in whatever way he likes—is almost overwhelming. She has just started seeing Thomas, but there can't be any harm in just looking, can there?

Rory nods and does a bit of math in his head. “Thanks. Shame we're moving on at the end of the week.” He pats the cube. “We're in high demand. Off to Brussels, eh?”

“Who's inside?” Jenny asks.

“Someone very special to me,” Rory says after a long pause, unsure what he can safely say. Nellie coos and Henry snorts. Jenny cuffs the lad about the ears, and Rory allows himself a small smile. “What are you doing, by the way? It is after hours, of course.”

“Looking for an alien artifact, probably. Something that might be opening up holes in time.”

Rory nods. “Here, I'll give you a hand looking.” He glances back at the box. “Something that powerful might be dangerous.” He leans close to Jenny. “River would probably just say 'spoilers,' but you've met her, haven't you?” He inclines his head toward the box again. Jenny nods. “I'd do anything to protect her.”

“I know. And I know the feeling,” Jenny says.

He nods again, looking surprisingly serious for a man wearing first-century armor in the 1800s. “Let's go then.” He shakes his head as he follows Jenny further into the museum. He's lost track of how many of the Doctor's friends he's bumped into over the years. This should be fun.

***

Vastra keeps a close eye on her scanner. Yes, she thinks, they are getting closer now. At her signal, Anaya guides Owen away as Vastra breaks into the display case of ancient jewelry to pocket a metallic cylinder studded with crystals. That must be it, she decides, just as she hears screams and laser fire. In an eyeblink, she removes one of the smallest crystals and pockets it. “Owen, get Anaya to safety,” Vastra calls as she speeds towards the commotion. 

“Dr. Doyle, at the risk of aggravating you, I did warn you about the dangers of that...thing.” Strax says, weapon trained on the Dalek.

“Don't worry,” says a strangely familiar man in ancient armor with a blaster in place of a hand. “Mapplethorpe got the kids to safety.”

“Perhaps you could worry a tiny bit,” Doyle offers, sweating. The Dalek's gunstick digs into his back. 

“Bring me the time tunneler, and your friend will be unharmed,” the Dalek squawks.

“What do you need it for?” Jenny asks.

“Your question is meaningless!”

“Answer,” Vastra says, producing the time tunneler. “Or I destroy it.”

The Dalek regards her for a long moment, stares at her as coldly as its lone artificial eye could manage. “This unit's time travel device was rendered unreliable by outside forces. Initial scans indicate a temporal cloak.” Vastra carefully keeps her face blank; this monster's lair lies, in all likelihood, within a quarter-mile of her own home. “Therefore a substitute was required. Scans indicated temporal activity in this sector.”

“I must admit, despite my precarious position,” Doyle says, “that this is most enlightening! The chance to observe such a strange form of life first-hand! Do you suppose that it forms a missing link, so to speak, between wholly biological and wholly mechanical lifeforms?”

“Silence!” the Dalek rages. “Daleks are the pinnacle of evolution! We are superior lifeforms!” Jenny smirks despite the tension. “Now, hand over the time tunneler, or I shall exterminate the blasphemer!”

“And then you will leave. Without exterminating anyone.” Vastra's voice brooks no disagreement.

“Very well,” the Dalek agrees. “Your terms are amenable.”

“And if you don't,” Rory tells him, “I'll blow you to pieces.” He gestures meaningfully with his gun-hand. “Won't be the first Dalek I've gotten the best of.” Fifth, actually. Plus nine Cybermen, 3 Zygons, 4 Slitheen, and one very lost, very angry Sea Devil, and those were just the ones he could put names to. He suspected it wouldn't be the last Dalek, either. 

The Dalek's eyestalk pivots to examine the ageless Roman. “Facial scan confirms Rory Williams. Threat deemed credible.”

“I thought the boy looked familiar!” Strax chirps, which is unnatural for him. “As a fellow nurse and warrior, it is an honor to fight by your side. May your death be glorious!”

“Um, thanks?” Rory scratches plastic hair with plastic fingernails. “Why does everyone seem to know me today? Bloody Doctor...bloody time-travel...”

“I don't know you, if it makes you feel any better,” Doyle offers. “Arthur Conan Doyle at your service,” he says as the Dalek releases him and Vastra rolls the time-tunneler across the floor.

“Oh, hey, I've heard of you!” Rory beams, then frowns. “I probably shouldn't say why.”

“Oh well,” Doyle shrugs. “Probably for the best.” They watch as the Dalek picks up the time tunneler with its suction arm and backs away, its gunstick still aimed at them.

“Let it go,” Vastra hisses quietly. “No sense getting killed over a damaged time machine.” 

Doyle mops his dripping brow as Anaya, Nellie, and Henry, unwilling to stay away for long, rejoin the group. “Could someone explain what just happened? I expect not good.”

“That was a Dalek,” Jenny begins. “The Doctor doesn't like to talk about them. Can't say I rightly blame him. Go around zapping anything in sight.”

“It appears to be alone—separated from its main group through both time and space. I deduce that it must have a time machine which it is unable to move...and that that time machine is within a third of a mile of Paternoster Row, just close enough for the temporal cloak to interfere, and therefore it needed something else, something portable.” Vastra flashes her teeth. “But I believe I was able to remove a component, making it less useful.”

“But if the Dalek didn't have it, why did Carpenter wind up here?” Doyle asks.

“Maybe I can answer that,” Rory offers. “They've been moving around a lot of items lately to make room for some traveling exhibits like me. Hello, yes, I'm a 21st century nurse reincarnated as an android dressed as a Roman centurion,” he adds to Doyle's baffled face. “Nice to meet you too. Anyway, I figure someone bumped the wrong button while shifting it from place to place and activated it by accident.” Doyle stares at him, uncomprehending, but everyone else nods at the chain of logic.

“When do we destroy the Dalek in splendid battle?” Strax interrupts.

“When we can find it again,” Vastra answers simply. “I expect that it is long gone now.”

“We can watch for wayward time-travelers, strange deaths, other unusual occurrences,” Jenny adds.

“So we just let it go?” Henry asks. “It did sound dangerous...”

“Nonsense! With our combined might, we could have taken it with a spotless 60% casualty rate!” Strax opines. The others blanch. “It would have been a mighty triumph.”

“Alas, such a victory was not to be,” Vastra says gently. “But neither were we defeated. Remember, the Dalek does not have a fully-functional time machine.”

“And I suppose we did chase it out of the museum,” Nellie notes. “Can you imagine if this had happened with all those people packed in here for the party?” She wraps her arms around herself. 

“Lots of nasty things out there, I reckon,” Anaya says at last. “No sense letting them run free while we wait for the Dalek to show itself.”

“Will you be in London long?” Vastra asks Rory.

“I should esteem myself highly should I perish beside you,” Strax adds, positively glowing. Jenny is, frankly, worried for the Sontaran's health.

“Sorry,” Rory says. “I've got my mission: protect the Pandorica. Just another hundred years to go, now. But you're welcome to visit; we'd love the company.” Jenny nods, and they say their goodbyes.

Nellie lingers for a few moments longer. “So, what do you do while you wait? It must get lonely after all those years?” Does a plastic Roman still feel the same...wants...as a normal man, she wonders. And can he still...perform? And how would it feel for her? Likely no worse than her hysteria cure. 

“It does a bit, yes.” Rory shifts from one foot to another. He doesn't quite like where this is going. What is it with him and sexually aggressive women?

Nellie bites her lip. He might be even more attractive uncomfortable than as a heroic warrior. If she thought her younger siblings would be jealous about her museum visit, just wait until she tells Allison about this stud. And she's certainly thrown better men than Thomas away for less, she muses. Still, no time like the present. “Do you want any company?” she asks at last.

Oh dear, Rory thinks. “Look, you are far too young for me, even if I wasn't an ageless plastic robot, which I am, or engaged, which I am. Will be. Probably, if the world doesn't end first.” His face turns pained. “Jenny! Help! I'm being flirted with.” Nellie saves him further embarrassment and sprints off—she has just remembered that she has promised to eat dinner with her family, though perhaps she will pay Paternoster Row a visit afterward and relax with her friends there.

***

Nellie arrives just in time to chivvy the younger children into place and set the table. She slides into place beside Thomas just as her father leads them in Grace. She has decided to take her paramours to visit her family and friends sooner rather than later in the process, as this tends to be something of a sticking point. But he seems to be getting along with her siblings quite well, and her father isn't looking at him too disapprovingly, she notices as she ladles soup into Mary's bowl. She smiles at him, and takes a roll from the basket. One hurdle down, she thinks. 

After dinner, a round of gossip, and dessert, she pulls him aside and leads him to Paternoster Row. Henry and Anaya are in the billiards room putting away a checkers board. “Friend of yours?” Henry asks stiffly.

“This is my new boyfriend, Thomas,” she explains, and introduces him to her friends. 

“Want to play?” Anaya offers, producing a deck of cards from the shelf. 

“What stakes?” Thomas asks, sitting down eagerly. 

“Just for fun,” Anaya says, eyebrow raised, but she deals in four hands anyway. Henry fidgets in his seat. “Trust me, we get plenty of excitement.”

“Nothing too dangerous for my girl, I hope?” Thomas asks with a nervous laugh.

“Not usually,” Nellie says, trying to look innocent. 

“Look here, you can't just put her into harm's way,” Thomas says, angrily.

“Because I'm a girl?” Nellie asks, arms crossed over her chest. “I get myself into plenty of trouble, thank you kindly.”

“But not,” Anaya observes, “as much as you have gotten yourself into.”

“Come on,” Thomas pleads. “Let me take care of you, keep you safe.”

“My dear Thomas,” Nellie says at last, “even my head is not so far in the clouds as to think that there is such a thing as true safety.”

“Forget it,” he says as he turns to leave, “plenty of girls out there who won't give me half the lip as you, and prettier besides.”

Nellie sighs. “Are you alright?” Henry asks.

“Like Dr. Doyle, I am emboldened by our adventures: we meet so many excellent, interesting people that I'm not driven to despair by my failures.” She slumps into a chair. “Know any games for three?”

***

“Jenny, you know that I often find the Doctor difficult to deal with, correct?” Vastra asks as they lounge in the greenhouse.

“Don't we all?” She and Vastra laugh. “Between his manner, his infrequent honesty, and the fact that one can never be sure in what order one is encountering him, it's a miracle anyone can stand him.”

“I freely grant that what you have said is true. And yet it is times like these that I long for his presence.” She sighs. “First dictionaries changing on a whim. Then time-travelers dropping out of the sky. Now a Dalek, his arch-nemesis, hiding in the Natural History Museum! This is all much more his forte than ours.”

“I reckon we can handle this just fine, Madame,” Jenny offers encouragingly.

“I am certain we are capable of the task, my love. I only dread what the cost may be, and not merely to ourselves. Already Carpenter is trapped out of his own time; we have no way of returning him to where he belongs.”

“I hope you don't consider that the worst fate that could befall him,” Jenny asks, taking Vastra's hand in her own; it is too warm for anything more intimate in the greenhouse, at least while they are still fully dressed—and she can hear their Peculiars carousing in the main building. 

Vastra smiles. “Under certain circumstances, I can imagine no happier.”

***

The Lone Centurion sits and stretches his legs, though he's not sure he needs to. “Hey, Amy,” he whispers to the solemn cube as he runs his fingers along its familiar edge. His voice echoes through the halls of the museum and through the centuries alike. “Guess what I did today?...”

***

Jenny walks back through the billiards room, where Nellie, Henry, and Anaya are playing cards. “Care to stick around?” Anaya offers. “We could use a fourth hand.”

“Why not?” she says. A few rounds won't do her any harm. 

“Thanks,” Nellie says. “Strax won't play anything but War.” She chuckles. “He says anything else is unmanly, but I think he just can't remember the rules for any other game.”

“The weapons were definitely his favorite part of the museum,” Jenny agrees. “What about you three?”

“I loved the beautiful tapestries,” Nellie says, eyes closed.

“Not the Lone Centurion?” Jenny kids her. “You rather fancied him.”

All three of the others look at her blankly; Anaya freezes mid-deal. “What are you talking about?”

“You don't remember a Roman soldier who came to life and helped us fight the Dalek?”

“You fought the Dalek, with Strax, remember?” Henry says, hesitantly. “You grabbed that sonic blaster right off the wall, from the middle of the east wing, and went charging in like a madwoman. Bloody impressive, honestly.”

“Yes, yes, I suppose I did.” She remembers it now, now that Henry has mentioned it. But she can also remember the Pandorica and its guardian dominating the middle of the east wing, a familiar face joining them in battle. Jenny rubs her head; she can feel pressure there from the two sets of memories colliding. “Wasn't thinking about m'self at the moment, I suppose.” She blushes weakly. “Don't know what I was talking about.” 

Well, Henry thinks, one fewer person to compete with at any rate. Anaya wonders if Jenny's outburst is an artifact of her travels in time—the older girl has told her that it can have an effect on the memory. Nellie just hopes Jenny is well.

Jenny coughs, and they all snap back to the game. “I believe you were dealing, Anaya.” The sooner they can straighten this out, the better, Jenny thinks.

**Author's Note:**

> The Museum of Natural History opened in 1883, thanks in large part to a campaign run by Richard Owen, coiner of the word Dinosaur. Mapplethorpe and the party are my own creations.
> 
> The essay of Twain's that Owen cites is called "Was the world made for man?" and is a complete anachronism, published in 1903. Let's just say Twain espoused similar ideas in an earlier lecture, or something.


End file.
